Crossroads
by alaricnomad
Summary: Peter/Claire. A different take on the start of S2, Peter's capture and amnesia. COMPLETE.
1. one

**Crossroads  
**By alaricnomad

**Part 1 of 6: Finding Home**

Author's Notes: For the life of me, I can't remember why I took this down in the first place. Maybe I wanted to rework it, but four kids later, that's not happening. So here we go.

_Peter/Claire. A different take on the start of S2, Peter's capture and amnesia. _

xx

Cold hands clamped over her mouth, unyielding arms wrapping around her and locking her back against the figure holding her. The scenario was familiar, and she knew it was fruitless to fight- not with the heavy male body holding her captive.

She was indestructible; she knew that fact as well as she knew her name, so imagine her shock as a needle suddenly dug into the back of her neck, hitting a spot connected straight to her spinal cord that even she could not dissuade.

The world went black.

xx

"What's your name?"

Her voice broke softly through his reflections and he lifted his head to regard the young blonde girl standing before him. He tilted his head as he studied her curiously, his lips curling into a regretful smile, "I don't know."

She nodded sympathetically; she knew what that situation was like. "Do they call you something?"

"Mimic."

She shook her head, stepping toward him to take a seat at his side on the floor, "We'll have to think of something else to call you."

He briefly smiled, looking at her curiously. "So you don't remember anything either?"

"Nope."

They fell into an uneasy quiet until she awkwardly shifted, clearing her throat before stating, "I heard them talking in the hallway. I think my name's Claire."

"Claire…" He gave her a crooked smile, "That's a beautiful name."

Claire blushed prettily, "Thank you." He only smiled once more in response, the pair falling into an easy, companionable silence as they leaned back against the concrete wall of their shared cell.

She shivered in sudden realization of the chill belonging to the room they were being held in, and he glanced at her, concern etched into his handsome features, "Cold?"

"Yeah, a little," she admitted shyly, ducking her head down to stare at the floor. He smiled at the bashfulness she displayed. She really was a beautiful girl. Sweet and golden, petite and softly curvy with such pretty green eyes and such a lovely smile.

He couldn't quite guess her age, estimating at the most a college freshman. Maybe it was just wistful thinking on his part: she was younger than him, that much was certain. He didn't want to make things worse by crushing on a vulnerable teenager.

"You look worried," Claire scooted a little closer to him, lightly placing her hand over his, "You shouldn't. Smile instead. It's such a handsome smile."

Feeling warmth in his face he would never admit to, he granted her request as he smiled again, gently wrapping an arm around her to share his body heat.

Claire leaned against his side and he rested his head against hers, closing his eyes as he breathed in the soft scent of lavender.

Maybe a little crush wouldn't hurt.

xx

If there was one thing Claire came to know, it was that her cellmate was a stubborn fool.

He refused to show the guard who watched over them any act of submission or humility, and his idiotic defiance earned him a strike or two or ten in retaliation. On one particular afternoon that changed everything between them, she found him being thrown lifelessly to the floor of their prison, regarded with one last disgusted sneer before the guard slammed the door shut behind him, the clang of the bolt being pushed into place echoing through the heavy steel.

She was dabbing at his broken lip with a corner of her jacket, dampened with the water left over from breakfast, when he finally came to. He stared up into the worried green eyes peering down at him and he whispered quiet apologies, reaching up to wipe away the tears sliding down her precious face.

"Idiot," was her equally low-in-tone response and her lips found his. She tasted the metallic tang of his blood against her tongue as she kissed him, as he returned the contact despite the pain, relishing instead in the heat of her sweet mouth against his.

The heat burned him from the inside out, and he wondered by the sensation felt so hauntingly familiar.

xx

He laid there on the floor once more a couple of weeks later. As he stared sightlessly at the ceiling, swollen eyes still feeling the imprint of fists as his vision blurred in and out, his thoughts idly wandered in a way that he wondered if he could have possibly hit his head.

"Can you hear me…?"

The words broke through the fog of confusion and weariness that grasped his mind in its smothering hold. He recognized that voice, clear as the ringing of bells, just as surely as his mind registered the familiarity of the light, floral scent that filled his nostrils and the slender arms that slipped around him, supporting his body as he tried to lift up before collapsing back completely all over again.

Her face hovered just beyond his vision, contorted into an expression of pained concern. He noticed dully that she was worrying her lower lip, something she did when nervous or disconcerted.

A cool, soft hand pressed to his forehead, smoothing back his sweat-soaked hair. "What do you think you're doing? You keep pushing them like that and you'll get yourself killed."

He tried to manage a laugh, wincing at the pain it caused his bruised ribs.

"Me. Nah."

"Don't joke," he could hear the thickness of tears in her tone, the quiver in her voice and guilt filled him. He leaned upward, sweeping a hand through her hair as he apologetically whispered her name.

"Claire, I'm sorry, sweetheart. So sorry."

He leaned forward, his intentions clear and Claire placed a hand on his chest to stop him, "Don't. Your injuries…"

"We'll take it slow."

His lips met hers and the kiss was sweet, soft as a whisper and gentle as the brush of a spring breeze. His hands slowly lifted the t-shirt she wore, slowly sliding off her shorts, baring delightfully bare skin to his eyes, calloused hands caressing her as reverently as if kneeling in a church.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, Claire's hands tangling in his short hair to hold him closer, nimble fingers stroking gently against his scalp, lips nibbling at his ear.

"Mmm…"

He wrapped his arm around her hips, hauling her to him and he kissed her once more, ardent in his passion, "I haven't felt anything like this before, Claire. You feel like home."

She slipped her arms around his neck, reaching to free him of his jeans, "Then come home to me now."

Lowering her to the floor, sinking into the warmth of her, he did just that. And in the slow throes of making love to her, his surrender of his restless soul so sublimely complete, he felt the spark of something awakening inside, kindling to life.

Afterward, Claire languorously stroked his back, sweat-soaked skin sleek beneath her fingertips, catching sight of his disconcerted expression, "What is it?"

He pressed a kiss to her neck, "Look."

Following his gaze, Claire's eyes widened a split second later as the lovebite she'd left on his shoulder disappeared, the bruises from the guard's earlier assault fading just as quickly. Looking down at herself, she found equally unblemished skin despite the hickeys she was certain she would find along her breasts at the memory of his questing mouth, "My God, what the…?"

"I don't know." His brow furrowed with worry, "I just don't know."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly him. Claire nestled closer into the warmth of his body, pressing her ear to his chest to feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. Quiet filled the room, but both knew that neither of them would sleep that night.


	2. two

**Crossroads  
**By alaricnomad

**Part 2 of 6: Searching For Home**

"You're going to give me a fetish."

Caught off-guard by the comment, Claire shot an amused look in her lover's direction, appreciatively letting her eyes stray over his form lying upon the bunk they shared in the cell. He was nude as the day he was born, his only attempt at modesty the blanket draped over everything from the waistline downward.

"Oh? Why's that?"

He propped himself up on an elbow, eyeing her speculatively, "There's just something about a guy seeing a girl prancing around in nothing but his shirt."

She arched an eyebrow, coyly fiddling with the hem of the plaid button-down that only came down mid-thigh, "I thought guys were more into French maids and Catholic schoolgirls?"

He smiled, crooking a finger for her to come to him and Claire obeyed, stopping in front of him, "Or maybe it's cheerleaders?"

He shook his head as he sat up, smoothing his hands down her sides until he met her hips, looking up at her with soft eyes, "Nah. Give me you in my shirt any day. It reminds me that you're mine."

She leaned down toward him, pressing a kiss to his jaw as she combed her fingers through the finely-short length of his hair. "Am I?"

"What?"

"Yours."

He frowned, uncertainty clouding his countenance, "Aren't you…? As much as I'm yours?"

"Are you mine?"

"As long as you want me."

Claire smiled, sliding into his arms seamlessly as if their bodies were fated to come together, "I want you. God, do I want you to be mine."

"Then I am," his mouth met hers, softly, teasingly.

She twined her arms around his neck, hands curling into fists as they clutched at his hair, the kiss deepening into something more heated, more fervent. He drew her closer, his heart warming with the husky whisper ghosting against his neck.

"I'm yours. I swear."

"I'm so glad to hear you say that," he kissed her again, quiet appreciation filling his gaze as he brushed his nose against her neck, gently inhaling, "You smell like me," he murmured, a reverent sort of awe laced in his voice.

Her mouth turned into an amused smile and she leaned forward, rubbing her nose against his, "That's because it's your shirt."

"Still, I like it."

She smiled softly, allowing herself to be encased in his arms as he drew her to him, him leaning against the wall behind him as Claire nestled into his lap. His voice dropped to a whisper, he informed her, "I discovered a new one today."

Her head leaned her head against his shoulder, tilted back her neck to regard him curiously. "Show me?"

In the three weeks that had passed since their first time together, when they dealt with sudden shock of their healing, they had slowly but surely discovered just how unique they really were. While Claire showed no sign of anything beyond her healing, he continued to manifest an array of different abilities.

So far, he had displayed not only the healing, but invisibility and telekinesis- the last one oddly discovered when a guard unexpectedly walked in upon the couple amidst their lovemaking, and her irritated lover glanced over her shoulder without pause in the slow, steady thrusts driving her to the edges of intensive passion. A dark look of annoyance in his eyes and their unwelcome guest was thrown against the nearby wall, the curses and grunts of the dazed guard accompanied the amused chuckle in her ear as she was driven into her climax.

"Where has your mind gone, sweetheart?" he kissed her neck, burying his face against her silken hair.

"Just thinking." She nuzzled against his chin, the scrap of beard stubble familiar and sensual. "Will you show me now?"

"Of course."

He lightly rested his hand against her shoulder, slowly but gradually letting his fingers drift down her arm, sensually brushing against her skin with a ghostly softness. Claire shivered at the contact, watching as he lightly whispered his fingers against hers and she reciprocated, rubbing her thumb over the roughened underside of his palm.

He skimmed fingers along the fine blue veins of her wrist, tilting his head down to skim his lips against the delicate thrumming of her pulse. He let his hand fall from hers, pressing his palm flat against the mattress beneath them. Her eyes widened to an almost comical amount, her lips parting in a soundless gasp as his hand suddenly disappeared. He gave her a smirk, raising his hand back up just enough for his fingers to phase through the bunk, wiggling up at her in greeting.

Claire made a sound of indignation, punching his shoulder as she narrowed her eyes. "Don't scare me like that."

"I'm sorry."

He was looking down at her as she contemplated, his eyes- those beautiful dark eyes- seemed to smile at her as she leaned forward, sealing her mouth over his.

_I love you. _

So caught up in his attention as he began a seduction of her senses with lips and teeth and fingers, she barely recognized that her confession had only been a thought in her mind, too caught up in her elation at his responding whisper.

"I love you, too, sweetheart. Always will."

xx

Four months, ten days, and eleven hours had passed since they'd managed to escape the prison that had been their living hell for nearly a year.

Wisps of steam drifted along the tiled floor, even as the water proved itself to be long cooled to a lukewarm state, the strange contradiction amusing her as she emerged from the shower, refreshed and lulled into a soft state of sated relaxation.

She smiled to herself as she wrapped a soft towel around her torso, the balmy air lingering from the hot bath enveloping her in a lingering dampness not banished by her emergence from the water. Her feet padded against the cool tile of the floor as she crossed the room, pausing for a moment as she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror hanging along the opposite wall.

Eighteen years old now and a child no longer, she hadn't changed all that greatly from the girl she was when they first met, still maintaining a lithe body developed to the full bloom of womanhood, the softly formed curves and the generous swell to her bosom, qualities she knew caught her lover's eye.

Peter was the name the files they hacked on their captor's computer gave him, his surname edited out without a certain level of clearance. Hers gave them no better luck. In the end, they adopted a surname together, going underground in hopes of finding the quiet peace they so desperately sought.

The face staring back at her still lingered with the underlying weariness of their imprisonment, but still somehow able to maintain the warm reflection of the inner fire Peter loved about her.

Her hair framing her visage in curling wisps of golden blond, much longer than the boyish cut she was forced to wear in confinement. Her hero was constantly complimenting her on his preference of the new length, possessing a fascination of curling the locks around his fingers as he kissed her.

Claire shook her head, a small smile curling her lips. How did he do that, making his presence known with every second even as his physical form lay sleeping in the next room, creeping unconsciously into her thoughts? It was something that could not be helped; no matter how much she tried, for Peter was everything now since she had come away with him, her heart and her life.

He consumed her, every part of her, enthralled her, and mesmerized her until she knew that nothing mattered more than her place at his side. She needed him, as much as he needed her, and that need, the love that it stemmed from, connected them in a way she had never before felt with another soul.

Something in her shifted, a subtle yet earnest urging as if the forces bonding them called to her, as if the very thought of him had her yearning for the physical sight of him, and she obeyed, crossing the floor to open the door to their bedroom.

He lay in the bed where she had left him, his head pillowed against his arm, the lithe stretch of smooth muscle and tawny skin making up his back facing her as his chest rose and fell in the slow, rhythmic breathing of slumber. He was beautiful, truly- inside and out.

She made her way toward him, seating herself delicately on the side of the bed. She reached out and stroked his soft black hair, long bangs falling haphazardly over his brow and into his eyes, which began to flutter open as the lingering touch of her hand.

"Hey."

She continued to comb her fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Hey, stranger. Welcome back to the world of the living."

He gave her a lazy smile and pulled her down toward him. Claire went willing, folding into him as he loosened her towel, letting it drop to the floor, as they came together in a hungry kiss.

And Claire Alexander could think of no better way to savor a Sunday, than to spend a lazy morning in bed making love to her husband, with nary a care in the world.

xx

***Alexander** means "defender of mankind." Appropriate for a pair of heroes, no?


	3. three

**Crossroads  
**By alaricnomad

**Part 3 of 6: Coming Home**

::In which a new life may mean ultimately letting go::

"I'm here to pick up an order for Teddy Black."

The speaker faced the man seated at the counter before him, curious eyes rising from his newspaper to regard the man over the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. The Haitian stared back at him, expression blank but eyes imploring. Noah smiled pleasantly, but his mind buzzed anxiously.

He knew better than anyone what the code "Teddy Black" translated to. He forced another smile, rising slowly to his feet praying to any deity that would listen that no one would notice the panicked anticipation riding up inside of him.

Noah forced another smile, "Of course. Follow me to the back, friend, and we'll get you your order."

The door slammed shut behind them, Noah bolting the lock into place and whirled around to face the tall, dark-skinned informant. "Where is she?"

The Haitian sighed, rubbing a hand against his shaven head. "North."

"You know for sure it's her?"

"Yes, but there's something you need to know…"

xx

They came to live a quiet life.

They arrived one afternoon about two years following their escape, stepping tentatively off the bus with little more than the clothes on their backs. Peter took her hand and led her to stand against the sidewalk to clear the bus's path, the two watching as the large machine huffed and jerked and groaned its way out of the station, leaving behind in its wake a trail of exhaust and a certain vagabond couple.

As the bus disappeared into the distance, Claire clutched tightly at her lover's hand as she glanced around warily in an effort to take in their new surroundings. Something about the place had her feeling both comforted and still a bit disconcerted, and Claire glanced instinctively at Peter out of the corner of her eye, watching as he sighed and shifted the old canvas duffle he carried over his shoulder. He looked around, contemplating, and then nodded to himself, giving her hand a gentle tug in an effort to draw her forward.

"Come on, love. Let's get us something to eat."

Claire nodded and fell into step beside him, Peter unable to help certain protective instincts as he reached out and wrapped an arm around her. She didn't seem to mind, instead resting more comfortably against his side. She shivered, wincing as she sought to nestle closer in search of his body heat. The coat she wore had been more suitable for a Seattle September, and now exposed to late autumn in Ontario, it was found to be quite lacking. Peter looked down at her, face creasing into a concerned frown and he momentarily paused, setting down their shared bag for just enough time to shrug out of his bomber jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders.

He sighed heavily as she settled back against his side, her petite frame fitting against him in that perfect way he never failed to marvel at. He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, commenting wryly as they rounded a corner, "We really need to get you a new coat."

"Where are we going to get the money for that?" she muttered as they entered a small diner on the corner, giving awkward smiles in response to the half dozen sets of curious eyes that suddenly turned in their direction.

Shaking his head, Peter cleared his throat, cupping her elbow to lead her to one of the back booths, sliding on either side to face one another. He briefly caught her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, leaning forward with a weary smile. "We'll figure something out. I promise."

Claire sighed, "But how? We can't even pay for a place to stay the ni-"

"Hi there, kids," a buxom, stout elderly woman approached them, smiling down at them as she flipped back her order pad, watching them expectantly, "What can I get you today?"

Claire hesitated, looking to her husband for direction, "Honey?"

Peter pulled out his billfold, rummaging through both it and his pockets. His face fell as he pulled out a twenty and a five and spared a glance in Claire's direction, her slow nod confirming their silent communication. Peter reluctantly tucked the twenty back in his pocket, looking up, unable to meet the waitress's eyes.

"Just water to drink, thanks," he took a quick glance at the menu, and huffed out a harsh breath, "A cheeseburger meal as well, please."

"Each?"

Peter's gaze was sheepish, but he shook his head, "No, just one." Arching an eyebrow as he watched Claire trying to hide still-existent shivers, he quickly corrected himself, "On second thought, could we get a cup of coffee too?"

Claire started, "Peter."

He shook his head, "You're freezing, love."

She sighed, and then nodded, quietly relenting. The woman studied their interactions with increasing interest, giving a curious half-smile. "I'll get right on that. Although, I should mention, we have a good deal today. I can get you a second meal, for the price of one, and I'll even throw in another cuppa. Sound good?"

Realizing what she was getting at, her eyes widening, Claire flashed the woman a grateful smile, "Thank you. That sounds wonderful, ma'am."

"Everyone here calls me Gram, dear. Ma'am is much too formal for the likes of this place."

Claire laughed softly, and nodded, "Alright then, Gram. Thank you again."

"It's my pleasure."

As Gram made her way back to the front counter, topping off the coffee cups of a few friendly regulars, she found herself the recipient of a curious stare, directed from the order window leading back into the kitchen. She arched an eyebrow in reply, "All these years, and you still can't keep your eyes off me, Ary Stuart?"

He gave her a quick grin as he sheepishly scratched the back of his balding head, "Sorry, pumpkin. Can't help it if you're still as beautiful as the day we met."

"Forty years we've been married, and you're still the same old charmer."

He gave her a smile, and turned back to his grill, reading over the order Gram had given him. He kept up a low whistle as his wife poured a couple of cuppas, commenting mildly to him, "Just so it doesn't take you by surprise later, we'll be out a little profit."

"What do you mean?"

Gram nodded her head toward the table catching her interest the most, "Take a look over there."

Ary did as he was told, studying the booth's occupants with mild interest. As far as it could tell, it was an ordinary young couple, the man a bit older than his lady friend, but neither of them probably much past their late twenties.

The girl was a real beauty, just a little slip of a thing with thick blonde hair plaited back into a simple braid, pretty face not bearing a hint of makeup, though her cheeks were red with what he thought might be wind burn. Her small frame was practically swallowed whole by a men's leather bomber jacket she wore, probably her man's, since Ary caught a glimpse of a baby-blue windbreaker under the bigger coat. Not very sensible, he thought. Too cold for the likes of something so thin.

Her fella was a bit more visibly beat, tall, lanky and dark-hued, sporting a mismatched mess of a beard, black hair disheveled and shaggy in a way that indicated how long he'd been without a proper cut. The sweater he wore had definitely seen better days, and without his coat, it was hard to hide the worn holes in his sleeves and collar.

"Hard times?"

"Looks like."

"Do we offer pie first, or hand off a couple aprons and get to making up the bed in the upstairs apartment?"

"We'll see."

xx

"We need to get you something warmer, today."

"How?"

He frowned, "I suppose I could-"

Glare, "You suggest turning invisible to pick a pocket again and I'll hit you. We don't have any reason to be that desperate; besides, somewhere this small, the police would be all over it."

"It's not like it's my idea of fun, but we had to do what we had to do."

"I know…"

After Gram had brought them their water and coffee, Peter and Claire sat with heads bent together in quiet conversation, hands stretched across the table to meet and intertwine.

"That was nice."

"It was, but we can't always accept charity."

"I know that, Peter, but we don't exactly have a lot of choices right now. Where are we going to sleep tonight for one? This doesn't seem to be a shelter here, and it's too cold to sleep outside."

"I know. When we hawked for those bus tickets, I just assumed this place would be like the rest; y'know, those truck-stop towns we could make an easy buck in working at the bars."

"Somehow, I get the feeling this isn't the kind of place where we make quick cash, and skip town within a few days."

Peter nodded, tiredly, "I know what you mean, love. We're caught between a bit of a rock and a hard place, don't ya think?"

Claire bit her lip hesitantly for a moment, whispering to him, "What if we stuck around for a while? You know, tried for a real job or two? It'd be nice not to have to worry about food or a bed for a while."

"Claire, we've talked about this-"

"It's been a year and a half since anyone caught even the slightest hint of finding us out, and we were all the way in Santa Cruz. Peter, I know you just want to protect me, and you don't want me to get my hopes up, but if this place pans out, it could be a chance for us. Baby, I just want a chance for something good…for once in our lives."

Peter sighed, giving her a small smile as he raised their entwined hands, pressing a kiss to each of her palms. "Okay. It's like you said, I don't want you to get your hopes up too high, but if this is what you want, and it seems plausible for us, then maybe…just maybe, we can stay."

"I think I could help with that."

Both their heads shot up in surprise at the unexpected comment, casting shocked expressions in Grams' direction as she nonchalantly set down a hot plate in front of each of them, "Sorry there," she said apologetically, "Didn't mean to startle you, or to interrupt. But I was thinking…"

xx

The town they lived in was small, somewhere in a remote Canadian province, not much to look at but oddly cozy. The kind of place where people didn't ask questions and took the young couple at face-value, accepting them for what they were: an honest, gentle-mannered man not afraid of working hard and his pretty, warm-hearted wife, a bright, bubbly personality whose enthusiasm could draw a smile from the most surly old codger.

Noah is the first to go and see them.

There was a young, golden-haired waitress at a small diner called the Den. She was perky and polite when she came to take his order, smiled genuinely at him, but there was no hint of recognition in her eyes, no glimpse of the love she once showed him so freely. As much as his heart ached, he was then sure it was going to stop all together a moment later as his gaze fell on her abdomen, just a small bump beneath her uniform, but placed just right that you could tell what was causing the swelling in her belly.

Good Lord, Noah could have fainted right then and there. His little girl was pregnant.

She poured his coffee (a cuppa, she called it) and he quickly remembered himself, tactfully asking questions that would allow him to fish for the answers he wanted. She visibly brightened at his mention of the baby and she beamed, placing a reverent hand over her stomach as she proudly answered his inquiry with the knowledge that she was a happy and healthy four months along. She introduced herself as Claire- he was Ben, and he was very pleased to make her acquaintance.

He ordered a good-sized breakfast, figuring it would give him reason to linger for a bit, get a better feel for his surroundings without seeming too creepy to the locals. The place was dead- due, he was told, to an annual festival taking place downtown, so between waiting for his order and keeping coffee cups fresh, Claire lingered at the open service window behind the corner, visibly flirting and chattering with the cook behind the scenes, though Noah never quite caught a clear look of the man.

She poured him his third cup when he was about a quarter through his substantial breakfast (eggs, sausage, bacon, hash browns, flapjacks, toast, fresh fruit- he prayed he didn't make himself sick), and he began to weave the story that he was in town researching a novel he was writing. He wanted to get a feel for the place as he planned for a setting quite like the town she lived in, and would she mind too terribly to take some time to tell him a bit more about it?

He was the one of the only three customers they'd had in an hour, so she'd be more than happy to help.

She called back into the kitchens for the man at the grills, and Claire proudly introduced the dark-haired fella that stepped out into the dining area as her husband. He was solidly built and visibly broad-shouldered, a strange contrast to the thin, pale man Noah remembered, sporting a beard, tousled dark hair, and a plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves, jeans and boots that looked like they'd seen better days. He had a bizarre mental image of an Italian-bred lumberjack as Peter wiped his hands on the apron around his waist and warmly greeted them.

Noah suddenly felt sick as he watched this Peter Petrelli-mirror (not himself, just like his Claire- wearing the same face, but not the same soul, not anymore) kissed his wife softly, fondly touched his fingers to her stomach, and pulled out her chair for her. Claire began to talk, only stopping momentarily to listen to his questions or attend to the drinks Peter occasionally went to fetch- tea for Claire, another cuppa for himself (cream and two sugars was the way Peter once took it when they met up together in New York; now he just drank it straight black).

Claire told him of the cabins that lay on the outskirts of the town, small and cozy- one of them belonging to the couple themselves. Their neighbors consisted of a man who owned a bait and tackle shop on the main street to cater to the ice-fishers who came up each year, the other a friendly fella who bred sledding Huskies for a living. He went farther north twice a year for the races, and made enough each time to feed and care for each spring's new litter of pups.

Snow apparently fell from October to April, and the river remained frozen until May. Deer and rabbits and moose were common sights along the borders of the alpine forest stretching off into the peaking distance, and Claire had a particular soft spot for them, unable to bring herself to fence up the small garden she kept in the summer like Peter had suggested to her.

The diner was owned by Aaron and Emma Mae Stuart, an elderly couple called Ary and Gram respectively, responsible for first opening the Den back in the sixties. They were a motherly/fatherly presence for both Claire and Peter, and Claire amusedly shared the story of how Ary had whooped and hollered and danced around the diner when Claire told them the news of their upcoming parenthood, all the while with Gram trying to reprimand him about his blood pressure, though she couldn't quite fight back a smile.

There were more mundane facts- the area's main industry was the lumbering business a lot of the men in town relied on for employment. There wasn't much of a law enforcement team, but the sheriff and his deputy were friendly fellas, family men. The nearest hospital was two hours away, but there was a private practice run by old Dr. Grayson, and a handful of those who'd volunteered to be trained as emergency paramedics, Peter among them.

After about an hour, Noah excused himself to use the restroom.

"Claire-bear…"

And he knew…he knew with an utmost certainty the likes he's never known in its strength, that the girl who'd greeted him with polite but distant cheer, with no hint of recognition in green eyes he knew so well, was no longer his Claire-bear.

No, she wasn't his anymore.

And Noah Bennet cried.


	4. four

**Crossroads  
**By Alaricnomad

**Part 4 of 6: Losing Home**

::In which a past must be forgotten to let the future happen::

Nathan was next. He himself waited a few years (five, to be exact), but eventually the pull became too strong to resist. It was an ache, a longing that thrummed so consistently through him; Bennet had explained their circumstances, their lack of memory or even knowledge of their relation to each other. Most of all, he'd emphasized the fact that above all, they were happy, and that alone had led to their joint decision- painful as it was- to leave them be.

But Nathan could no longer resist.

xx

_EIGHT YEARS AGO:_

It was a somber gathering- Nathan, Noah, Mohinder Suresh, Matt Parkman and the Haitian. They sat in the luxury penthouse the Petrellis kept for more "discreet" activities away from the family, the unofficial home-base after Peter, and then Claire's disappearances, a year before.

Nathan's voice, hard as steel, broke through the tense silence, "What do you mean they're not there?"

Noah ran a hand fitfully through his hair. "Exactly what I said. I'm saying that we searched that compound from top to bottom and back again. Peter and Claire aren't there."

"How is that possible?" Nathan rose to his feet, fists clenching as his sides as he fought to control his temper, "You said your informants were absolutely sure they were there."

"That's what I was told."

A sympathetic and bewildered Matt chimed in, "Maybe they were moved, or maybe they managed to escape."

Noah shook his head. "Not with the kind of security they were under- not without Peter's abilities."

"What if the files were wrong, what if they found a way out?" at Matt's suggestion, Nathan's head shot up.

"Peter might have his head up in the clouds 24/7, but he's innovative when he has to be. And Claire's got enough balls for the two of them." He smiled faintly at the comment, remembering the defiant girl who once jumped from a several-story window with the courage to do what he couldn't.

Noah was nodding, his hope sparking at the idea, "They could have managed it. It even could have been recently. Breaking the compound's security threw everything off-balance, right? Maybe they slipped out in all the chaos."

Nathan sighed. "But why wouldn't they have waited for help?"

The Haitian turned his head inquisitively in the politician's direction. "Without their memories?"

Nathan's brows arched, but Noah nodded, eyes closing wearily. "Who would there be to trust?"

xx

_NINE YEARS AGO:_

His whole world was a mix-up mess of shadows and blurry objects- no matter how he tried to focus, the more the light hurt. His head pounded and he closed his eyes against the pain, listening to the jumbled noise around him…

"…practically catatonic since they put him under again…"

"...how long since…the drug…?"

"…two, three weeks…"

"…Ireland…screw-up…should've been sent here…"

"…got mixed up with a bunch of thieving Micks…"

"…mimic…"

xx

He hated when they took Claire away. He fought as hard as he could every time they came for her, but more often than not, he just got himself hurt and made Claire weepy-eyed and angry.

He hated what they did to her. He couldn't remember what happened when they took him- everything got foggy once they dosed him with whatever the hell they used those needles for.

Speaking of needles…they were the things that made up Claire's nightmares. She refused to tell him about what happened- consciously at least- but when she woke up shaking, she'd whisper to him jumbled messes about white rooms and needles they forced into her skin far harder than necessary, as if they expected some resistance, IVs that drained at her, left her nauseous and sick.

He held her close every night, quietly, meticulously, planning out his revenge.

xx

_Present Time_

He dressed casually as he could, let himself take a walk down Main Street on a surprisingly pleasant spring afternoon. He nodded to a few locals who passed him by and offered friendly greetings, eyeing the buildings he passed as he searched for the diner Bennet had told him about all those years ago.

He found it, not too far from the bus station, tucked away at a corner that led up to a dead-end that transformed into a dirt road, winding up into the nearby hills. Squinting against the horizon, Nathan could clearly make out the shadowed outlines of several structures- cabins, he guessed.

It was an unremarkable place, really- not conspicuous in a way, about as far from classy as his Manhattan upbringing would let him dictate, but still…it supposedly housed the truth Nathan Petrelli had spent the last five years struggling to avoid.

He didn't know how long he merely stood across the street, frozen in place as he stared unseeing ahead of him, willing but unable to take a step. Eventually, he slowly, sluggishly, began to trek forward toward the Den.

His mind whirled with thoughts as he moved- he'd always been both relieved and ashamed with himself as he remembered how easy it had to just pretend Peter was dead. Mourn him, remember the man he was- not think about the harsh realities Bennet had delivered to him that fateful morning when he returned to the states and showed up at his doorstep, looking only half the man he used to be.

He took a deep breath, made his way toward the door…or he would have, if said door wouldn't have suddenly flown open to reveal two blurring bundles of energy. Nathan blinked at the little girl that skidded to a stop just in front of him, smiling innocently up at him with doe-brown eyes and blonde pigtails. The boy that followed behind her was younger, pouting beneath a heavy mop of black hair- honestly not looking very intimidating in a blue terrycloth robe, stitched with a yellow rubber-duck on the pocket.

"Ben!"

Close at the children's heels was a flustered looking man, forearms –exposed by sleeves rolled up- coated in water and dissolving soap suds, the front of his flannel shirt soaked. He was scowling (as much as Nathan could see beneath the heavy beard he wore) and he opened his mouth to reprimand the boy when they were all approached by an elderly woman who looked torn between reprimand and laughter.

Sharp eyes assessed the state of the man, and then the guilty children. She shook her head, bending down to gently but firmly grasp the boy's- Ben's- chin.

"Benjamin, you know better than this."

Ben pouted, sticking out his lower lip defiantly, "No bath."

"Yes bath. Look at the fit you've given your poor daddy."

As Ben peered up guiltily at his father, the woman turned to his sister, "And you, young lady, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Playing partner in crime when you should be setting an example for your little brother. Both of you apologize to your father and get back upstairs, you hear me?"

A soft chorus of "Yes, Gram" and "Sorry, Daddy" followed, and little feet were once more shuffling their way inside.

Gram placed her hands on her hips, unable to hide her smile as she faced the young man beside her. "Peter, honey, how'd he get away from you all the way down here?"

Nathan started, but he kept silent. Like a train wreck- he couldn't tear his eyes away, couldn't make a sound to interfere.

"I forgot to shut the door to the upstairs apartment. Ben tried to make a get-away and I slipped on the water. I fell on my ass, his pretty little accomplice opened the door for him and the rest is history. At least the little heathen remembered to cover himself this time."

Gram laughed, "Poor man. Afraid of raising a clan of streakers?"

"Afraid the decision for offspring is going to be the death of me," he groaned, "Where's Claire?"

"In the kitchen. It's her break. Want me to send her up?"

"What about…"

"Dear, she's pregnant, not an invalid. She'd tell you the same thing. She's not even showing yet, honey, and you're already worrying." She patted his cheek, easing Peter's deep frown, "Too cute. Now, do you want me to ask her or not?"

"Please. I think I need a breather. Tell her I'll make it up to her."

Gram nodded, softly laughing at herself as she left him alone in the doorway. Sighing to himself, Peter moved to do the same, finally spotting the stranger gaping nearby. He cocked his head curiously, "Can I help you with something?" he moved out of the way, gesturing into the Den, "Sorry, was I in your way?"

Nathan shook himself out of his stupor, "Ah…no…I was walking by, then…um…" he trailed off helplessly.

Peter threw back his head and laughed, fully and deeply, "Sorry. Daily floorshow my boy seems to make of himself. A spectacle like that is routine around here, but it's gotta be strange to an outsider. Sorry 'bout that."

"It's no…no trouble."

Peter nodded, looking thoughtful and all Nathan could do was stare. See the familiar man beneath all the new, the unfamiliar making the man his brother was now…no, not his brother…Peter, but not his Peter.

Children…oh, god…his stomach rolled and he fought the urge to lose his lunch right then and there. Peter continued talking, face turned away from the other's discomfort as he gazed into the diner, "Well, then, you comin' in?"

Swallowing hard, Nathan fought back the urge to scream at the man before him. Bring back those memories by force, shake him out of this falsified life he'd constructed for himself…remind him…TELL him…the truth about the wife he went to bed with every night, the children he'd fathered with her.

But he remembered the lack of shadows, doubt or pain, insecurity or grief, that was once a permanent characteristic of his brother's eyes, and he kept his mouth shut. "No," he said finally, "I'm just passing through."

"Alright. Have a good day, friend."

Twelve hours later, he collapsed into his office chair in Washington, impatiently rummaging for the bottle of scotch in one of the drawers. He held up the first glass, toasted to the ghosts of the past, and quietly grieved for the little brother he could finally accept as gone.

xx

_EIGHT YEARS AGO:_

"Do we have any idea what the hell they were doing there?"

"Experiments. Confinement. They had some kind of medication…"

A nod to the Haitian, "They are mimics of Rene's ability. They rendered them incapable of accessing their abilities."

"It says right here they managed to fight the effects. 'Healing manifested after incident. Dosage increase needed.'"

"They must have found a way to fight back then."

"Why dose them? Why keep them there in the first place?"

"They each had their purposes. Peter was dangerous, he was a threat- but they found a way to keep him subdued, free for observation and study."

"Claire?"

"Experimentation. The virus."

"…she was the cure we've been looking for…?"

"And they kept it all locked away- we found the serums they developed, but she's…"

"I know."

"So what now?"

"We look."

"That's it?!"

"We look. We hope. We wait."

xx

_NINE YEARS AGO:_

"Claire."

Blinking tiredly into the dark, Claire turned herself around in the warm embrace that held her, facing her lover. She grazed her fingers against the bruise darkening his cheek and she leaned close, making as if to kiss his neck and she whispered in his ear, "Why didn't it heal?"

He returned the gesture, catching her earlobe between his teeth as he spoke in the same near-inaudible tones. "I didn't let it."

She straddled him, kissing him softly before she drew the covers over their heads. Beneath, heat and dark enveloped them and she maneuvered herself, rocking against him, "What does that mean? Is it the pills?"

"No," he grasped at her hips, giving a very real grunt of ardor as he squirmed, seeking to free himself from the confines of his pants. She giggled as she fell over him once more, feeling him hard and wanting.

He glared, groaning out the next part of his explanation, "I don't know how, but I must have slowed down the healing. Mentally or something. It can't be the pills."

He demonstrated as telekinetic forces began to pull up her shirt. Claire obediently raised her arms for it to be peeled over her head, watching him smirk. She rolled her eyes, moving against him once more as she remembered their need for cover. That wiped the arrogance from his face very quickly.

"So…"

He ran his hands up her sides, fingers whispered seductively against her skin, nearing dangerously to the swell of her chest. "So, if I heal naturally…"

_You can hide it_, she answered him mentally, _You stopped, didn't you? Taking them?_

"Yes," the reply came out more like a hiss in response to her undulating body and he wrapped his arms around her, rolling them over until she was pinned beneath him.

_What about me?_

"No. I won't risk it."

_That's dangerous._

"Trust me, love."

She stared up at him. Everything was hanging in such a delicate balance these days. The first manifestation of their healing abilities and the docs had a fit- watching him come into each ability- invisibility, telekinesis- had thrown them completely off the rails. After each occurrence, they increased doses of those venomous pills. Claire shuddered at the thought of them- with each take, she could almost feel the life being drained from her, the wonderful, healing force housed inside her.

They'd managed to keep the new ones- telepathy, phasing- to themselves, but how long could they really hold up the act for their captors?

He kissed her, his lips skimming caressingly over hers and he breathed against her mouth a repeated please, "Trust me, Claire."

She linked her arms around his neck, letting herself be laid back against the bunk, "Always."

He levered over her, and began to slowly move, "I'll take care of us."

He kept his promise- three weeks later, there was a sudden occurrence at the compound. Amidst alarms and explosions, blackouts and chaos, the lovers had fought their way to freedom.


	5. five

**Crossroads  
**By alaricnomad

**Part 5 of 6: Rediscovering Home**

Emma Alexander was six years old when she first began to notice something was out of place.

Like every youth with a happy childhood, she had always believed her family to be the most perfect in the town where they made their home, if not the world. Two parents who loved and cared for her, two little brothers- the elder who looked up to her with adoration, the baby who smiled and gurgled happily whenever she approached.

Her parents were simple folk, kept to themselves, but worthy of the affection and respect their neighbors bestowed on them. They made a modest living running a small diner in a backwater town, lived in a small two-bedroom cabin not far from their workplace. They could have lived in a golden palace or a tent and Emma was sure she still would have been just as happy and loved.

Daddy was a quiet man, not aloof in nature but more thoughtful, a bit of a dreamer. He was a warm man- smiled often, was quick with laughter and always generous with his hugs. He provided for, protected, and loved his children above all else, extending that care to the rest of the town- he was a pro at the grill in the back of the Den, a favorite of the men at the lumber camp for the hearty meals he provided- he was one of the first to respond in a volunteer emergency situation.

Daddy was made to be a hero, it seemed- he saved little Billy Graham from drowning after the ice split, he helped put out the fire that almost destroyed Mr. Thomas' store, even freed her best friend Susie's kitten from the 'coon trap it caught itself in.

And Mama…it was obvious to the entire world that to Peter, the sun, moon and stars revolved around Claire Alexander.

While Daddy was a dreamer, a hard worker, Mama was the thinker. Daddy had a habit of telling anyone that would listen: Mama was the real brains of the outfit. Gram would just laugh and tell him he might as well 'fess up to who really wore the pants in their relationship. Mama was all about balance; she kept up dual duties as both mother and helping the upkeep the diner. Their partnership was like their marriage: Daddy did the hands-on things, Mama did the planning, looked after the practical aspects.

Her gentle-hearted and strong-willed temperament brought a kind of harmony to the Alexander household. Stubborn and spirited, with a heart of gold and a will of iron, she was more than capable of taking on her absent-minded and sometimes obstinate husband.

Above all, though, her maternal instincts and affections seemed boundless; from the cookies she baked, to how brave she seemed to give birth to baby Aaron right in their living room when she went into labor during the snowstorm: after Mama and Daddy explained how Aaron was being born, Emma still shivered at the thought of getting a baby from there. Considering how much Mama had been screaming…Mama sure had guts.

There were those strange dreams she got at night, where she woke up crying and screaming and Mama held her tight, slowly rocked her. Daddy would whisper to her soothingly, kiss her forehead as he stroked her hair. Mama made her feel warm and loved, just like Daddy made her feel safe. It made getting the dreams not so terrible.

But strange things happened after she got the dreams. Sometimes, she saw things. People, places, things happening. All the more confusing, those things started happening in real life. Scared, she'd told Mama about it and Daddy got a strange look on his face, telling her sternly not to tell anyone what she saw in her dreams. She obeyed, and for a while, things went back to normal.

And then came the first time she saw Ben disappear. It wasn't like poof! He didn't just up and become invisible. No, he went through the wall! Straight through it like there wasn't anything there at all. She wasn't sure if she could have believed it if it didn't start happening again and again. Ben made a habit out of it- especially to get out of bath time. Emma tried to hide it from Mama and Daddy, told them guiltily that she'd been the one to let her brother out, but Ben just got slicker in his escapes; he stopped just going through the wall and the door, started phasing through the floor and the stairs.

She started to worry he'd hurt himself and suddenly it didn't matter if she made Mama and Daddy mad, or if Ben called her a tattletale. She spilled everything to her parents.

They moved away within the week.

xx

She was eighteen and they'd settled themselves in a small Texas town. A vengeful sun hung high in the sky on a humid August afternoon when the country fair came around that year. It was apparently the highlight of the summer, not to be missed.

The entire town was abuzz with activity that night as Emma walked with her family. At the head of the entourage was her parents, her father tall and proudly handsome even in simple t-shirt and jeans, though the black complimented well with his olive skin and honey-brown eyes; her mother beautiful on his arm in her soft violet sundress.

Ten years since they'd come to the States and it was there that the deception started. She was six, seven, then eight, and it didn't take a genius to slowly figure out that while she might be getting older, her mother and father stayed the same.

Especially poor Mama.

Her children started to grow and Claire remained stuck somewhere between sixteen and eighteen- while Peter could pass as their father for a few more years, it was impossible not to see how much it hurt Mama the first time Emma had to call her "Aunt Claire" in public, and finally, just "Claire."

They couldn't hide in Canadian backwoods forever, it seemed, and over the years they moved from place to place, never staying more than a year or two. It seemed it wasn't even so much their developing powers that worried Daddy so much- it was he and Mama's ages.

The cover stories were generally all the same- Emma, Ben and Aaron were some degree of relatives taken in by the young couple after a tragedy or two. Their current situation was that of cousins of Claire; it seemed to help that though there were stray traits inherited here and there from Daddy, they all resembled their Mama to some degree.

She suddenly felt strong hands clamp down on her shoulders, and turned her head to find two pairs of eyes, one brown, the other hazel-green, staring down at her, both hidden beneath heads full of thick black hair. Ben with his pretty-boy features and mischievous grin, Aaron, with his boyish face and soft, clever smile.

Ben grinned in his roguish way, reaching down to tweak her nose in a fashion certain to irritate her since childhood. Somehow, it still irritated her that both boys towered over her in height. "Well, well, what's got you so down, Emma Mae?"

Emma scowled and batted his hand away. She hated to have her name, in honor of the fondly remembered Gram, twisted into something that sounded mocking.

Aaron rolled his eyes and reached out to lightly thump the elder's head. "Weren't you supposed to meet Jody already, big brother?"

Gone pale before he could retaliate, Ben nodded, his expression falling into one of dread. "Hey, you're right. Em, Ary, will you two cover for me with Mama and the old man? See ya."

And with that, he disappeared into the crowd with a flurry of dark hair and flailing jersey.

Aaron shook his head, unable to help his lips curling into a small smile of amusement. He turned back to Emma and offered his arm to her, and together they began walking at a more leisurely pace in a half-hearted attempt to catch up to the rest of their family.

Emma studied him out of the corner of her eye, looked at the profile of the man-boy, saw the changes that time has etched on him, saw everything she has ever seen that made him her little brother.

She saw the changes first (fourteen, when had that happened?). He'd gotten much taller, both her brothers had, but unlike Ben's more slender build, Aaron was more trim than lithe, rapidly growing into broad shoulders and long limbs. His countenance was strong but boyish. There was a lot of Daddy in him to be sure. While Emma was fair-skinned and fair-haired like Mama, and Ben had Mama's hazel eyes, Aaron was the only one of them as dark and swarthy in looks as their father.

Unable to resist a sudden urge, she reached up and brushed away a stray lock of dark hair from Aaron's eyes, smoothing it back against his forehead. She sighed and crinkled her nose with exasperation as said lock of hair fell right back to where it had been.

He looked down at her, his expression warm, his eyes smiling as much as his mouth. "A bit exasperating, huh?"

She returned the smile and nodded. "He's becoming completely girl-crazy, Ary."

"Benji, you mean? You're probably right, but it might be different this time. Jody has him completely wrapped around her finger."

"It's hard to imagine him settling for one girl."

"Hmm. Some things change, Em. I think he's sincerely caught this time. His eyes are seeing nothing but her." His smile became softer, as they suddenly came to a stop and veered off to the side of the main square, taking a seat to watch the festivities.

He leaned closer, keeping his tone low as he spoke to her. "Someday, Em, you'll meet someone that will have eyes for you and only you, and he'll see how beautiful you are."

The warm pressure of a kiss against her forehead, and then he straightened, gave her a small wave and disappeared into the crowd.

Feeling her face warm, she remembered then why Aaron had always been her favorite. Thirteen or not, he always knew the right thing to say.

A couple of hours with her friends- rides, games and enough carnival food to swear her off eating forever- and she struck out again to find her family, which didn't prove all the hard. She stood along the sidelines with her siblings, watched Ben snuggle up with Jody, Aaron sitting contemplatively at a nearby picnic table, her mother trying to goad her father into dancing. A live band was playing in the background, the soft acoustics lulling in a gentle melody.

Claire finally succeeded and her parents made their way out onto the dance floor. It was in those moments that Emma can see why both her mother and father made such a perfect pair, Peter strong and confident as he moved elegantly with his wife in his arms, Claire beautiful and graceful as she matches his movements, the two of them almost regal as they glided across the dance floor.

Their dance ended and she was taken by surprise when Peter approached her next.

He bows with a flourish, giving her a cheeky smile, and there was a confidence, a light to him that made it hard to reconcile this figure with the man who was her adorable, loving father, who played games and gave piggy-back rides as easily as he wrestled and mock-fought with the boys, who helped care for her when she was sick and soothed away tears when she fell and skinned a knee. He was all that, and somehow so much more in that moment as she accepted his offer to dance.

He was as graceful a dancer as he had seemed with her mother, his step sure and nimble and his arm strong around her waist. Like her brothers, he towered over her, but it was comforting instead of intimidating, his smiling face hovering above reassuringly as they moved together through the intricate moves of an old dance.

"…beautiful, you know that…?" he commented softly, his eyes on her, making her realize with a blush that'd she'd lost herself in her thoughts.

He answered her quizzical expression with a low chuckle and a reassuring grin. "You, Emmy. You look beautiful tonight."

She smiled slightly at the familiar nickname and shook her head to his previous statement. "No, I'm not."

He hummed softly and looked down at her once more, the distance in his eyes fading as hazel orbs focused on her. "You won't believe your old man? Is it because I called you Emmy? Should I call you Ms. Alexander instead?"

She shook her head, pointedly poking her finger into his chest. "Uh-huh. Emmy's fine. It's just for you, though."

"Okay, okay. But you aren't so little anymore, either." His hand reached up, fingers curling around her chin, turning her face gently to study her more closely.

"You are grown up now, aren't you? But…" His tone dropped to a low near-whisper, a strange lilt to his voice that sounded tender, almost awed. "But…so much like your mother as well. Very beautiful."

He laid his hand against her cheek, and his thumb brushed against her skin as he slowly smiled. "Yeah, you've become quite the beauty, haven't you, Emmy? I'll have to be right there to fend off all those boys."

He bend down to kiss her forehead as the music died down, whispered words only audible to her, "Remember something for me, Emmy sweetheart. That beauty's more than the eye sees. It's like your Mama, forever young…but so stuck in her own skin that not everybody can see how pretty the heart is. You'll change, baby, but just let it be the surface things…don't let time change the inside."

Her heart breaking, she closed her eyes, realizing for the first time just what it might be like for her parents beyond the hiding and changing names. It really was forever for them, wasn't it?

"Daddy…"

He gave her a sad smile and with that, he bowed to her once more as the music died down, straightening with a grin he returned to her mother.

She was soon swept away by a boy from her school, shy and cute but sure of himself as they began to sway together. Her eyes strayed over his shoulder to her parents from time to time, lost in her thoughts.

Claire in the embrace of her husband and lover, felt the warmth of him and the strength of his arms around her in a way she never failed to treasure, and she nestled closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder as she let the nostalgia stir her senses.

"Peter," she said softly, noticing their daughter's wandering eyes, their expression unreadable, "What did you say-"

"Shh," he said softly, leaning his head against hers, "We'll talk about it later, love." He said her name so softly, with all the warmth of a physical caress, "I just want to hold you tonight."

And he did hold her, through that dance and several more. Love and longing that flowed between the two of them in a web entangling past and present, merging them together as they danced until their feet were numb and pained, until the dawn and the dark horizon of the night met and announced the new day, stealing away the illusion of yesterday.


	6. six

**Crossroads  
**By Alaricnomad

**Part 6 of 6: Standing at the Crossroads**

The years passed quickly.

They had made a good life for themselves. They had settled down to the best of their ability, started a family and raised their children with all the love and care they could provide. That life of theirs wasn't perfect but they made the most of it they could, never quite losing the love and optimism that had flowed between them from the moment their eyes met for the first time. They watched their children settle down in the same pattern, start families and raise children of their own.

Aaron was the first to go. He graduated school to become a middle school history teacher, settling himself in Texas somewhere near Houston. A month after moving, he met Cecilia, the school's music teacher, and within the year, not long after Ary turned twenty-four, they were married. They lived quietly and happily, just the way his parents had always expected of their gentle, down-to-earth youngest.

Emma had always been more of a restless spirit and it showed when she took to traveling directly after graduating high school. She only came home after she'd managed to see every one of the fifty states, Mexico and Central America, backpacked her way from London to Prague and back again.

When she finally chose her profession, settling into nursing school, her instant attraction to one of her professors had rocked the boat once more. Eric Vaughn was a logic-driven, book-smart type, and the bold, persistent advances from the decade-younger woman had befuddled and tongue-tied the poor man. Emma eventually made her catch, twenty-eight when a head-over-heels Eric made his proposal.

Benjamin, for his part, managed to hold on to his beloved bachelorhood the longest. Ben had always been the more carefree of the three, maintaining a "come as it may" outlook on life. He proudly referred to himself as a jack-of-all-trades and never seemed to worry about the fact, always having a steady flow of employment for him, not matter how eclectic or bizarre. From zookeeper to mechanic, sky-diving instructor to dishwasher, with a little housepainter or construction worker in between, Ben never ceased to surprise them.

He was thirty-five, casually dating around and bartending in New Orleans when Renee walked into his life. A jazz singer with enough class and beauty to turn his head, she swept him off his feet and any idea of a romantic fling flew out the window the first time they struck serious, heartfelt conversation, sharing a love for old time blues and Vonnegut.

Given time, they soon had a total of five grandchildren. The need for discretion regarding their "special blood" was an unspoken lesson Alexander children learned early on, most especially to understand the ways Nana and Grandpa were a secret.

The extended family gathered once a year at Christmas at a rented cabin in Colorado, isolated enough to both have solace in one another's company and not raise any suspicions. Peter and Claire never missed a single holiday, even when the celebrations became the first, the second, the tenth and so on.

On one such Christmas, Peter had spent the day with an extra spring in his step and a mischievous glint in his eyes, drawing his wife's suspicions until finally he revealed his motives, dragging her away from the festivities.

"Peter, what are you doing?"

He grinned, "I just wanted a few minutes alone with you. And a chance to do this," he kissed her softly, lingering for a moment before pulling back, "It's only a matter of time before the kids decide the sight of their grandparents kissing is gross."

She giggled, "You have a point there."

"I wanted to give you something."

She watched him curiously and he shifted his feet nervously, pulling from his pocket a small black-velvet box. He handed it to her, smiling shyly. "Here you go, love. Merry Christmas."

"Oh, Peter, it's beautiful." It was an emerald ring set in white gold, each side of the gem set with three tiny diamonds. She beamed at him, allowing him to remove the ring from the box and place it on her finger, kissing her hand in the process.

"I have to confess, I do have an alternative motive."

"What's that?"

He couldn't have surprised her more if he'd stripped down and dance before their entire family on a tabletop in the buff when a moment later he dropped down to one knee. Forty years they had been together and yet here he was, asking her simply. "Claire, will you marry me? Again?"

She laughed. She couldn't help it, torn between incredulity and delight. "Yes! A thousand times, yes!"

He smiled again, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him. His hands traced up her spine and back down, coming to rest gently at her waist. Her eyes were a warm, spring-green as they regarded him tenderly and she cupped his face, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss him once more. Soft lips caressed against his own- comfortably familiar but still so capable of inspiring unrivaled passion and ardent joy inside him.

He rested his forehead against hers, panting slightly. "I'm going to love you forever," he whispered breathlessly.

"Forever's a long time, Peter Alexander," she teased him, though the light that shone in those incredible eyes told an entirely different story about her reaction to his statement.

"It could be eternity, and it still wouldn't be enough time to spend at your side."

She looped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder. "When did you become such a poet?"

"Maybe you inspire me."

"Maybe. Peter…I love you too," she responded, "Until the world crashes down around us, I'm going to keep on loving you. No matter what."

"Same here, love," she snuggled against his side, his arm around her shoulders, as they stepped back out into the living room, ready to be greeted by their family, high in holiday spirit and youthful optimism.

xx

He was sixty-eight, Claire fifty-seven, when the stranger came to their small home in West Virginia, quiet and solemn as he stood on the front stoop, accompanied in the background only by the sounds of autumn winds blowing and crickets chirping in the lawn.

The man introduced himself as Simon Petrelli, saying he had a message to deliver to them. His father, Nathan, a wealthy New York politician, had recently passed away, and written in his last will and testament was a wish for the couple to come to the city. He had left something for them, Simon said, something important that dealt with their missing past. He asked them to think about it, and then took his leave with a respectful goodbye and a hope to see them soon in his hometown.

They spent three weeks debating the subject. They were happy. Had truly been happy for over four decades. It could be a trap, but on the other hand, so much time had passed since their forced incarceration…who would remember, let alone still be after them? All of it was in the past, so what did it matter? But there were missing pieces that had always bothered them at the back of their minds, no matter how fulfilling the life they forged together turned out to be. Could they really turn down the chance to finally get some answers?

They left for New York the next morning.

It was a simple, leather-bound briefcase, inconspicuous and innocent if not for its contents. He learned his man, Nathan, had left him a considerable amount of money, together with a handful of letters and dozens of photographs, papers and a copy of his own birth certificate. Claire was given much the same treatment, and Peter began to shake as he learned why.

Peter Michael Petrelli. Younger brother to Nathan Petrelli. Nathan Petrelli, who was the biological father of Claire Bennet.

Peter Petrelli's niece.

He barely made it to the bathroom before he began to retch.

He lay there motionless on the tiled floor, leaning against the bathtub, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling above him. He felt her presence before he saw her shadow cast over him, listening to the rustling sound that accompanied her crouching down beside him, placing a tentative hand against his shoulder. "Peter?"

He instantly recoiled, shoving her hand away. "Don't touch me."

"Peter, please…we can figure this out…"

He regarded her harshly, rising to his feet with the solitary intention of putting as much distance between them as possible. "What's there to figure out?"

To that, she had no real answer.

xx

With one single revelation, their world had shattered.

They kept their mutual distance. Separately, they kept contact with their children, each one of them puzzled and increasingly disheartened by the rift formed between their parents. Neither dared to breathe a word of what the former couple had discovered in New York. It was as if speaking it aloud made it real…so bitterly real.

It would be ten years before they set eyes on one another again. The wife of Aaron's eldest, Adrian, had delivered their first great-grandchild: a baby girl. The moment Peter walked down that corridor toward his granddaughter-in-law's room and spotted Claire standing there, holding the newborn infant in her arms, he knew nothing- not blood, not resentment, not misplaced nobility- could ever stop that profound force that drew him toward her.

They stumbled together that night into his hotel room, wrapped up so thoroughly in each other he wasn't sure where one ended and the other began. A need drove the pounding of his heart, sparked the heat in his blood, to be as close to her as humanly possible, to be one with her, anything so not to ever let her go again.

He peppered kisses down her neck and shoulder, running his hands down her sides, "You are so beautiful."

She smiled, tilting back her head to grant him better access, "You always were a flatterer."

She felt his lips lift into a smile against her skin, "You're just too modest to admit how utterly gorgeous you are. Always have been."

"The day I'll admit it," she replied wryly, "Is the day you finally own up to your hero complex."

"I don't have a hero complex."

"Of course not," she replied blandly, seeing through the denial quick as lightening.

He grumbled. "Only you would be insulting me at a time like this."

"I'm sorry. I'll stop," her gaze tender as they stared into his, "I've missed you so much, Peter."

"I've missed you too. So much my heart hurts."

His eyes closed briefly, as he rested his head against the side of hers, sighing softly. How could he have denied either of them the bliss of this for so long? How could he have been so cruel? Nothing mattered but this angel in his arms: the beautiful golden-haired girl who once requested his smile, if only to brighten their situation.

"Where ever you are, beloved, come back to me."

He opened his eyes and turned toward her, reveling in the feel of her lips pressing to the back of his shoulder. "I want you, Peter. What will you do about it?"

Drawing her close to him, she became his entire world.

His kiss was anything but mild or chaste. She opened to the insistent press of his tongue, succumbed to him as he pulled her close and lowered them both to the bed. The lush mattress beneath their weight made for a soft landing, and then he swept over her, his mouth at her throat hot as a brand, his hands lost between them.

A wild, strange heat coiled in her belly, stoked by his touch and fueled by the desire smoldering in his eyes. She had known those eyes forever, seen every look, every emotion they had to reveal, and every pain. She knew their fire, their determination, their sorrow, their pride, and their strength.

But on this morning, they burned with a different fire, a familiar, lustful heat that never failed to thrill her. It was a gaze full of love and desire dominating over everything else; all for her, only for her. As his mouth descended onto hers once again, all coherent thought flew out the proverbial window.

Emotion and sensation met and clashed; collided to join together in a fire that threatened to overwhelm her. His heat enveloped her, embraced her just as he did. Clothing were peeled away and discarded, thrown away with no second thought given to their destination.

He touched her in ways only he could, in places no other man ever had. His touch was simultaneously demanding and gentle; tender in a way she had always known him to be. By the morning, there was no certain guarantee things would ever be the same between them as it had been before, and yet everywhere he touched, burning her, thrilling her, would still mark her as his, no matter their circumstance.

Strong and tender, passionate and gentle, he was all the things she had ever known him to be. The familiarity of him was soothing, knowing his body as well as she did; all the times they had been separated still left old scars…

Two bodies became one, their hearts pounded with united rhythm. She had been years without him, and in their urgency there was momentary discomfort as he filled her. Their bodies went still, and there he was to kiss away her pained expression, stroking her hair, murmuring broken words she couldn't understand, but accepted the comfort they offered none the less.

A perfect reflection of the tenderness that made up who he was, and every way she loved about him. Slender arms twined around his neck, legs around his hips, and she welcomed him into her body.

And then, the pain was gone, disappearing as a distant memory as the sensation of him inside of her besieged her heart, her thoughts, her body, as they began to move again. In this moment, as bodies became one, two hearts, two souls, submerged together as well.

Something archaic, something primal, in an ancient dance existing since the dawn of time, a rhythm guided by instinct, a mating driven by things they could never say.

Passion, desire, lust, he was all those personified. Erasing any trace of doubt, insecurity, and questions from her head, thrown aside, tossed aside until there was nothing left but him, every sense overwhelmed and filled with him.

The faraway look his eyes held since he'd returned disappeared and he was there with her, all of him. As she writhed beneath him, cried his name again and again, as their world collapsed out from under them, sending them flying.

Soul-shaking ecstasy, gravity defying as they crossed the line between fall and flight, came without warning, poignant and overwhelming. His body shuddered and her name spilled from his lips raw and broken, utter oblivion there to meet them as they collapsed together in an entanglement of intertwined limbs and spent passions.

Claire lay her head upon his shoulder, smiling softly as she pressed her ear against his chest to listen to the thundering of his heart, "I can hear your heartbeat."

He grasped her hand, placing it over the origin of the galloping rhythm. "It beats for you. You know that, don't you?"

She raised her head, eyes solemn as she watched him, stroking a hand down his cheek. "I'll believe it again, if you can find the resolve to break down those walls shutting me out."

He drew in a shaky breath and gave a nod. "I can try. I'll try, love."

It wasn't perfect, it wasn't a paradise, but it was their life, their reality. They stood at a final crossroads and they could only pray that after all their mistakes, the decisions they made next would lead them in the right direction.

The only thing left was to take a leap of faith, and hope.


End file.
